outspoken vigorous heart! Was it from freak that Greeks and Easterns reverenced beards as symbols of manhood, dignity, and wisdom? or that Christian fathers thundered against the No one barber as a violater of divine law? surely could accuse that handy, oily, easy little personage of evil intent; but he symbolised the subtle principle which pares away the natural virtue of man, and substitutes an artificial polish which is hypocrisy! It is to be observed, however, that hair can be representative of natural evil as well as of good. A tangleheaded bushranger does not win our sympathies. A Mussulman keeps his beard religiously clean.

Meanwhile the yellow-haired Scandinavian, whom we have already laid under the imputation of being a dandy, stood on the threshold of Mr Dyke's office, and that gentleman confronted him with a singularly inquisitive stare. The visitor's face was a striking one, but can

be described at present only in general terms. He might not be called handsome, yet a very handsome man would be apt to appear insignificant beside him. His features showed strength, and were at the same time cleanly and finely cut. There was freedom in the arch of his eyebrows, and plenty of eyeroom beneath them.

He took off his hat to Mr Dyke, and smiled upon him with artless superiority, insomuch that the elderly clerk's sixty years were disconcerted, and the cerberus seemed to dwindle into the bumpkin! This young fellow, a good deal less than half Mr Dyke's age, was yet a far older man of the world than he. Not that his appearance suggested the kind of maturity which results from abnormal or distorted development; on the contrary, he was thoroughly genial and healthful. But that power and assurance of eye and lip, generally bought only at the price of many years buffetings given and

taken, were here wedded to the first flush and

vigour of young manhood.

My name is Helwyse; I have come from Europe to see Mr Amos MacGentle," said the visitor courteously.

Helwyse-Hel-!" repeated Mr Dyke, having seemingly quite forgotten himself. His customary manner to strangers implied that he knew, better than they did, who they were, and what they wanted; and that what he knew was not much to their credit. But he could only open his mouth and stare at this Helwyse.

"Mr MacGentle is an old friend; run in and tell him I'm here, and you will see." The young man put his hand kindly on the elderly clerk's shoulder, much as though the latter were a gaping schoolboy, and directed him gently towards the inner door.

Mr Dyke recovered his voice by an effort, though still lacking complete self-command. "I beg your pardon, Mr Helwyse, Sir,-of

course, of course it didn't seem possible-so long, you know-but I remembered the voice, and the face, and the name-I never forgetbut, by George! Sir, can you really be- ?”

"I see you have a good memory; you're Dyke, aren't you?" and Helwyse threw back his head and laughed, at the clerk's bewildered face perhaps. At all events, the latter laughed too, and they both shook hands cordially.

66

Beg pardon again, Mr Helwyse, Sir-will speak to the President," said the subdued

breakwater, and stepped into the sanctuary of sanctuaries.

He was

Mr MacGentle was taking a nap. seventy years old, and dropped asleep easily. When he slept, however lightly and briefly, he was pretty sure to dream; and, if awakened suddenly, his dream would often prolong itself and mingle with passing events, which would themselves put on the semblance of unreality. On the present occasion, the sound of Helwyse's

voice had probably crept through the door and insinuated itself into his dreaming brain.

Mr Dyke was too much flustered to remark the President's condition. Putting his mouth close to the old gentleman's ear, he said in an emphatic and penetrating undertone,—

"Here's your old friend Helwyse, who died in Europe two years ago, come back again, younger than ever!"

If the confidential clerk expected his superior to echo his own bewilderment, he was disappointed. Amos MacGentle unclosed his eyes, looked up, and answered rather peevishly,

'What nonsense are you talking about his dying in Europe, Mr Dyke? He hasn't been in Europe these six years. I was expecting

him! Let him enter at once.'

But he was already there; and Mr Dyke stepped out with consternation written upon his solid features. Mr MacGentle found him